The vineyards stretched across the slope, drinking in the same sun that warmed the boy’s face. He sat on a picnic rug beneath a broad tree, head in the lap of a woman with long dark hair. She hummed idly as she ran fingers through curls of the same shade as her own. It was a rare thing for the boy to see his mother so relaxed. She always seemed to be worked up these days, not angry per se, just noticeably out of sorts. Her calm was such that the boy hesitated to speak for a time, unwilling to see the familiar worry lines crinkle into place about her eyes. Above all things however, children are impatient, and eventually the boy’s desire to speak got the better of him.
‘Ma, what happens when we die?’
The woman’s eyes opened slowly and met the boy’s own. A blue so deep they were almost black. Contrary to the child’s fears, his mother’s expression did not cloud with worry. Instead, she smiled down at him, features warm as the sun above.
‘Are you thinking about Poppil?’
‘Yeah.’
Poppil, the old family dog, had died earlier in the week. The boy had gone to play with the animal, as he always did after his classes, only to find it cold and lifeless. It had been his first time experiencing the death of a loved one, and the boy did not care for the feeling one bit.
‘Well, I’m sure a good dog like Poppil would have gone to puppy heaven.’
‘You think so?’
‘I do.’
She gently brushed the hair from his face and kissed his forehead.
‘If I die, will I go to puppy heaven too?’
His mother’s expression froze at the question, and the worry lines creased her face. There was a long moment in which the boy tried to understand what he had said wrong.
‘You will. I am going to make sure of it.’
The sound of footsteps came from nearby, and the pair turned to see a young girl stomping their way. Her features were narrower and sharper than their own, exacerbating the haughty expression etched upon her face.
‘You aren’t still crying about Poppil, are you Mickie?’
A flare of irritation only siblings could instil pulsed through the boy, and he scrambled out of his mother’s lap.
‘No. I didn’t even cry at all.’
The young girl looked down her nose at him.
‘Did not cry at all. Speak properly.’
Mickie’s nostril’s flared and he prepared to pounce on his sister. She might act high and mighty, but he knew her weakness. Lucia was unreasonably susceptible to being tickled. A gentle hand on the boy’s arm stopped him before he could make his move.
‘Lu, do not antagonise your brother because he cared about Poppil. Mickie, there is nothing wrong with feeling sad about a loss.’
The two children stared one another down for a long moment, before giving their mother shamefaced looks.
‘Oh, enough of that you two. Let’s see what you got, Lucia.’
Fight defused; the woman smiled at the pair of them. Mickie sullenly sat back down, while his sister produced a picnic basket and placed it on the rug. She removed the wicker lid to reveal a collection of freshly picked grapes. The boy’s nose crinkled in distaste; he could tell they were not quite ripe. For some reason, both his mother and sister shared a preference for the sour over the sweet.
‘When will Papa be home?’
Lucia asked, cutting through Mickie’s explanation of the perfect throwing stick he found earlier. The young boy glared at his sister but kept silent. He too wanted to know the answer to this particular question.
‘Later tonight, he called while you were with Professor Mildrew.’
Lucia’s expression soured at the mention of their least favourite tutor, but soon shifted to match Mickie’s burgeoning excitement.
‘Will he bring presents do you think?’
The young boy asked, and his mother chuckled softly.
‘I’m sure he will bring a gift for each of you. Now Mickie, what was it you were saying about that stick?’
The family spent the afternoon drinking in the warm sunshine and snacking on grapes. It was one of the last good memories Mickie had. That evening his mother allowed the children to stay up and wait for their father to get home. Just as predicted, he brought the both of them gifts, and a young Mickie spent a pleasant hour or so playing with the small toy before heading to bed. It was late, and he was soon drifting off, only to be rudely awoken what felt like moments later. Lucia stood by his bedside, scowling down at him as she shook his shoulder.
‘W-what?’
He muttered, and received a hissed shushing as a reply. Lucia put a finger on her lips and leaned in close.
‘Ma and Pa are talking. It’s something important.’
She pulled at her brother until Mickie fumbled his way out of bed. Lucia loved to play at spy, and was always sneaking about the house at night. It was not an uncommon occurrence for her to drag her brother along for the ride.
‘Lu, I’m tired…’
The boy mumbled, earning a glare from his sister. He had learned it was generally easier to go along with her devious schemes when they rolled around. Lucia could hold a grudge better than anyone Mickie had met, and was inventive when it came to delivering payback. The two siblings made their way through the villa to the arched doorway of the conservatory.
Pausing by the open entrance, Mickie took a subtle look inside. His father was sitting upright on a soft chair, looking out at the dark hillside while his mother paced. Lucia gave him no further time to peek than that, as her hand closed about the back of his neck, and she hauled him out of sight.
‘I don’t understand… Why now of all times, with the Glascone on our doorstep?’
It was the voice of Mickie’s mother, laced with agitation. The young boy’s ears perked up at the mention of the rival family. His father had told some scary stories about the Glascone in the past.
‘I don’t know, but by all appearances, it’s gone smoothly. Claudia’s already making moves to fight back.’
‘And what about us, this won’t affect us right, won’t hurt our plans?’
There was desperation in his mother’s voice now, and it made Mickie’s shoulders stiffen. He wanted to walk into the conservatory and hug her. Lucia sensed his thoughts and grasped his elbow tightly, pinning Mickie in place.
‘Fran, you know as well as I do what this means. Tomin was one thing, but with Claudia at the helm…’
‘No, don’t you say it. Don’t you say another word. Forget Tomin, forget Claudia, we are done with them. Everything is in place Anton, all we need to do is go. We can be free of this, our children can be…’
His mother cut off, and Mickie heard her take a slow, steadying breath.
‘We can still make this work.’
‘Fran, I’m sorry, but we can’t. Claudia has just taken control, and she is looking to get her pound of flesh. If we run now, she will hunt us to the ends of the earth, just to show the rest that she can.’
Silence fell over the house. A long quiet into which Mickie’s stomach sank. He was too young to truly understand what was happening here, but he understood the emotions with which his parent’s spoke. When his mother finally broke the silence, her voice was laced with venom.
‘You are a coward Anton. You are a coward that waited too long to do the right thing. I will not let our children grow up in this world. I won’t do.’
‘Fran, please.’
‘No, just… no. Not another day. If you won’t act, then I will.’
The sudden sound of footsteps had Lucia dragging Mickie away from the door. They hid in the shadow of a large plant as their mother strolled from the conservatory with purpose. Behind her stumbled their father, a stricken look on his face.
‘Fran, wait, what are you doing?’
‘I’m going to talk with Claudia.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes now. While I’m gone you need to make sure everything’s in order. When I return tomorrow, we are leaving.’
Mickie’s mother walked down the hall, stopping by the villa’s exit to get her coat and purse. The sight of her, framed in silhouette by the night sky, would stay with him. Even in the years to come, when her features grew hazy in his mind’s eye, he would still remember this moment. Recall how tall she stood; how imposing and unstoppable she had seemed.
It was the last time he ever saw her alive.
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Life can change. It can shift so suddenly that you do not even realise you are falling until you taste the dirt on your tongue. Mickie’s mother did not return the next day, nor the day after that. At one point their father had them gather their things, only to set them by the door. Anton had paced like a caged animal by the entrance, before turning and telling them to go play in the vineyards.
On the morning of the third day, the family came. Three black vans pulled into the villa’s driveway, and multiple people Mickie vaguely recognised piled out. He and Lucia were separated from their father and piled into one of the vans. They drove to the old mansion in the hills, the seat of his family’s power. Mickie had tried to ask what was going on, but was cuffed hard across the face and told to keep quiet. Lucia had held him tight afterwards to help muffle his tears.
They reached the mansion and were taken straight into one of the guest rooms. When Mickie and Lucia had come in the past, they were normally housed in a family suite with their mother and father. This time the siblings were locked in a cramped, dank room with a single mouldy mattress. The boy had sat on the floor and wept. He cried until an agitated Lucia grabbed his shoulders and shook them violently.
‘Shut up. Alright. Just, shut up.’
Mickie sniffled and looked at his sister.
‘Why are they doing this? Aren’t they our family?’
His sister sighed and ran a hand through her hair. For all that Mickie was nervous and panicked, she appeared calm and cool.
‘Don’t you remember what we heard the other night? Ma and Pa were planning on running.’
‘So?’
She gave him and incredulous look.
‘So, you don’t run from the family. Especially not when someone like Claudia has just taken over.’
Mickie just sniffed and looked at his feet. Lucia huffed and came to kneel before him. She gently reached out and took her brother’s head in her hands, tilting it up so his eyes were level with hers.
‘Mik, we are in a lot of danger here. Whatever Ma did, she obviously made the family real mad. Do you understand?’
‘Do you think we will get to see her?’
‘I… I’m not sure. I don’t know what happened, or what they are going to do with us, but we need to be careful.’
‘Where’s Pa?’
Anger flashed behind his sister’s features, and she shot to her feet.
‘Rotting in a cellar for all I care. Mickie, listen to me, we need to be careful here. You need to do what I say. Can you do that?’
‘Okay.’
She gave him a sharp smile.
‘Good. First thing, no more crying. Things could get tough, but we can’t seem weak.’
Mickie gave another sniff and whipped his eyes.
‘I can’t help it though. I just get sad sometimes.’
Lucia paused in her pacing and gave him a long look.
‘Maybe then, you need to lock it away. That sadness you feel, take it, and lock it in a box. Hide it away so nobody but you knows it’s there. Can you do that?’
‘O-okay.’
The small boy straightened as he did as he was bid. He took a slow breath and nodded.
‘Okay.’
He repeated, clearly this time. Lucia flashed him a smile, though it seemed to Mickie to be a false one.
‘Good. Next up, whatever happens you let me do the talking, okay? If you have to speak, stick to yes or no.’
The young boy frowned.
‘Alright, I guess. Why can’t I speak though?’
Lucia stopped her pacing and faced him dead on.
‘Because if we say the wrong thing here, they’re going to kill us.’
After a few hours the siblings were taken from their small room and led through the mansion. Mickie did as he was bid, not saying a word to anyone. The members of the family varied in reaction to the sight of the two children. Some appeared shamefaced, avoiding their eyes or turning swiftly away. Others were angry, glaring or cursing under their breath as he and Lucia passed. Eventually the pair came to a door, and after a swift knock, were shoved through.
Inside was a comfortably appointed study, a plush sitting area overlooking the mansion’s grounds. Upon the couch sat a matronly woman in her mid to late forties. Her hair was still sleek and dark, but also coloured with an infrequent tinge of grey. Mickie recognised her from prior visits, this was Claudia, the family’s new leader.
‘Ah, children, welcome. Please have a seat.’
The woman waved towards a sofa opposite her own.
‘Thank you.’
Lucia replied tersely, and led the way to one of the chairs. The siblings sat, wary of the woman before them. Claudia had not spent much time in the core of their family’s power, so their interactions with her were limited. The matronly woman smiled warmly at them and pushed a small tray with cookies across a mahogany coffee table.
Mickie might not have eaten in hours, but his stomach was twisted into too many knots at the moment. The thought of the food only made him queasy. His sister must have been of a similar mind, because she kept her hands folded in her lap.
‘May I ask why we have been brought here?’
Lucia asked, attention fixed on the older woman. Claudia frowned at their refusal to eat, but swiftly regained her smile.
‘Brought here? Children, you are of the family, this is your home.’
‘Then why are we being held against our will?’
Mickie felt a surge of pride at the strength behind his sister’s voice. She spoke as their mother did when telling someone off. The young boy’s back straightened and he adopted a serious frown of his own.
‘Against your will? Oh no, I am sorry if it appeared this way. All of this was really for your own safety. There was an incident, and the family worried for your wellbeing.’
The frown on the boy’s face became a touch more genuine. Incident? What kind of incident?
‘It was your mother dears, she died, and we think the Glascone are responsible.’
Mickie’s vision tunnelled, and the world grew distant. Everything became fuzzy, like he was a poorly tuned radio.
‘Assassinated on her way home. We were worried you might be next.’
His mother, dead? The thought was like a molten ball of lead, scalding and heavy to hold. Dead like Poppil had died. Gone for good. No more evening walks, no more piano sing alongs, no more late-night treats, nothing. It could not be true, it was not possible.
‘It is the sort of thing we have come to expect from the Glascone. They are too fearful to fight openly, and so they resort to these disgusting tactics.’
Anger bubbled up as Claudia continued to prattle on, that same matronly smile plastered across her face. Mickie opened his mouth, prepared to shout her down, to call her a liar and demand she bring their mother back to them. A sharp squeeze on the boy’s leg stopped him short. Mickie glanced to his sister and found her shaking her head, jaw clenched and eyes hard.
‘I know it must be hard to hear, but that’s the truth of it. Do you understand?’
The woman was smiling softly now, drinking in the reactions of the two children with sparkling eyes.
‘Yes.’
Lucia said tersely, rubbing at her face with a forearm.
‘Good. You are both brave children, and you are of the family. So do not fret that your mother is gone, because you are here with me now.’
Claudia smiled with teeth so white they were blinding.
‘I will be your mother in her place.’
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Without even needing to speak on the topic, both children knew the truth of their mother’s death. Claudia had murdered her for daring to leave the family behind. They knew it, and could never speak of the fact if they wanted to avoid a similar fate. Their father was to be sent to a distant plantation, under the pretence of keeping him out of the Glascone’s reach. Lucia had been cold during their parting, but Mickie loved his father as he loved his mother. Anton had smiled down at his son and given him one final piece of advice.
‘Mickie, the world is a hard place. A cold place. Your mother and I tried to shield you and Lucia from it, and we failed, I failed. I’m sorry I was not as strong as your mother. The next few years are going to be hard, especially on you. Things will happen that feel wrong, and you might feel like you have to stand against them. Listen to me when I tell you, you need to bend. If you do not bend, then you will break. Do you understand?’
At the time Mickie had nodded like he understood, even though he did not. This was the final time either of the children ever saw their father. It would still be a couple of years before illness claimed him, but Anton would spend all that time in exile.
After their father left, Claudia decided the children needed to expand their education. During the days they were split up, and Mickie was taught weapons with a group of younger relatives. They ostracised him, not knowing the reason he was a black sheep, but understanding enough to shun him all the same.
The young boy did not mind, he could handle the occasional beating. It was preferable to the task required of him in the afternoons. After lunch, he was sent to assist in a local abattoir run by the family. There, he would perform the gruesome task of killing and butchering pigs. Unaccustomed to violence, Mickie had refused to work at first. Instead, he threw up and fled outside for the duration of his shift.
That evening he learnt what it meant to displease his new mother. Claudia told him she was disappointed in him, that a good boy did as his elders asked. Then she had him locked in the pit. A damp stone hole built long ago, the pit had only a bucket of water, and drain in which Mickie could relieve himself. He spent three days in solitude there, all for refusing to kill when it was required.
The next time the boy went to the abattoir, he bent as his father had told him to, and did as he was bid. For a time after that, the siblings seemed to find a balance. Mickie eventually found he no longer had to bend to do what was required of him. The abattoir simply became another task in the day. That was of course when Claudia decided he needed to step into the next stage of his learning.
She brought the now teenage boy to a remote cellar and presented him with a man. Naked, gagged, coated in bruises and shuddering with sobs, he was a pitiable thing. Claudia handed Mickie a captive bolt pistol, the kind he had used innumerable time before at the abattoir.
‘This man, my dear, is our enemy. I want you to kill him.’
The teen had assumed as much when he saw the pistol.
‘What did he do?’
Claudia sighed in disappointment, and Mickie flinched at the sound.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
‘A good boy would simply do as he’s bid. If you must know, this man is one of the Glascone. He is one of the people who killed you mother, Mickie.’
The teen wondered for a second why he even bothered asking. Claudia delighted in telling lies or half-truths. Oftentimes the falsehood would be readily apparent, sitting out in the open like bait in a trap. If anyone ever called the matronly woman on her lie, she would laugh, say it was just some fun and apologise. Then she would ruin the person who dared to question her word.
‘I see.’
Was all Mickie said in reply. He had learnt it was best to be terse with Claudia, the less you said, the less there was for her to find offence with. Approaching the bound man, Mickie kept a tight hold of the box in his chest as fear and disgust raged. The captive had tear tracks etched into the muck on his face, though his sobbing had now run its course. In his eyes, the teen saw pain and terror, but also resignation. Whoever this really was, they seemed to have accepted their fate.
Perhaps that should have eased the task for Mickie, but his hand still shook as he raised the captive-bolt pistol. The young man stood with the device pressed to the man’s forehead, finger resting on the trigger, and found himself unable to go any further. He could not do it, could not bend this far, he was sure of it. If Mickie pulled this trigger, he would break.
‘I won’t.’
From behind there came a heavy sigh, though Mickie could almost feel the glee it hid.
‘Are you sure dear? This man helped kill you mother.’
For a moment, the teen contemplated turning the tool in his hands upon the accursed woman. Claudia was fully grown, sure, but he had been training to fight for years now. All he would need to do was press it to her forehead, and this could all be over. Except they would kill him for it, him and his sister. Mickie lowered the pistol and stepped back from the bound man. His matronly master came forward and gently took the weapon from his hands.
‘I wish for you to be one of my arms, child, and as my arm, you must obey my will.’
Claudia raised the pistol to the man’s head and pulled the trigger.
Mickie received a full week in the pit for his disobedience. He raged and screamed within, swore he would kill Claudia, that he would kill the whole accursed family. When he emerged however, he was weak, meek and half starved. The matronly woman was there with a bowl of stew. She hugged him and told him how sorry she was, how things would be better if he would only listen to her. In years to come, when he recalled the moment, Mickie would be sickened by the spark of affection he had felt for the woman.
Afterward, before even giving him a chance to shower, Claudia took Mickie to a holding facility, one of the family’s darker places. The haggard boy was presented with a man that looked even worse than he did. Bloody and broken, the captive seemed to struggle getting enough air through his mouth to breath. Mickie was once again handed a captive-bolt pistol and told to kill. Even after his time spent in the pit, he hesitated. It was then that the man’s eyes seemed to clear, and his cracked lips breath out a single, shaky word.
‘Please.’
And Mickie found he could bend even further.
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Acting as Claudia’s executioner was not a stable role. Sometimes it would only be a few days between kills, and other times months would pass. While Mickie found he could do what was required, he was never able to let the deaths fall into the category of work. Perhaps it was the infrequent nature of the task, or just some intrinsic repulsion within him. Whatever the case, every time the teen bent himself to pull that trigger, a piece of him cracked away.
Eventually, the box in Mickie’s chest could not hold pressure of it all, and he broke down. It was then that Lucia taught her brother to hollow himself out, propping Mickie up to continue in the name of survival. Claudia graduated him from captive-bolt weapons to outright firearms, and soon the young man found he had cracked enough away from himself that he could bend easily to the task.
Outside of protecting his sanity, hollowing out his emotions had an added benefit while training. Mickie had always been proficient at fighting, but sunk into the cold ice of logic, he was downright lethal. The others who ostracised him had their feelings exacerbated by jealousy. Unable to bully him effectively in lessons, they soon took measures into their own hands.
Mickie had left the mansion to walk the grounds, taking a chance to get away from the family he hated. Following a familiar route through a shaded glen, he was stopped by three figures. Two boys and a girl stepped out to block the path before him. They were older than he was, bordering upon adulthood, and each carried a long piece of rebar.
‘Bit dangerous, isn’t it? Claudia’s favourite out on his own like this.’
The teen said nothing, examining the larger trio. Hollow as he was, Mickie found the prospect of violence not wholly unappealing. He had performed his role as executioner earlier in the day, and emotion boiled just out of reach beyond his calm centre.
‘You gone deaf or something, listen when your betters are talking.’
One of the boys stepped forward, rebar held ready to strike. Mickie stayed where he was, something akin to joy coming over him. These walks through the garden never truly relaxed him. If anything, the peace of it all only made the roiling of his own emotions more pressing. A fight though, that was something he could lose himself in.
As the assailant stepped within reach Mickie’s hand darted into a pocket and removed a switchblade. The older boy drew back his arm to swing and the teen stepped into his guard. Mickie caught the wrist before the rebar hit him and drove his knife into the boy’s gut. Fingers went slack and metal thudded into the soft soil. Mickie’s jealous classmate looked down at a growing stain of red on his shirt, mouthing words silently.
The shorter boy let his knife slide free as his assailant stepped away. His hollow was not perfect, oftentimes he lost control of it and things slipped in. Mickie felt the fury, and it burned through everything else. For years he had dealt with his classmates. All the bullying, all the abuse, all for the sake of his and Lucia’s survival. While they learnt how to best shake down business late on a loan payment, he had been taught the best methods of killing a person.
Mickie reached down and scooped up the dropped rebar. Behind their dumbstruck companion, the other two assailants were realising something was wrong. Their voices rose with increasingly intense shouts of alarm. The younger boy looked them over, and for the first time, bent to a task not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
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The three bodies were discovered a few days later by a groundskeeper wondering at the smell. Mickie had spent the intervening time in much the same way as always. The only person he had told of his actions was Lucia, and she had been downright apoplectic when she found out. His sister believed he was endangering their position within the family, something she had apparently been cultivating over the last few years. Mickie was not particularly concerned what the family thought of him. They could all drop dead, and he would hardly bat an eye.
When Claudia called for him, Lucia really began to panic. Again, her younger brother was confused by the reaction. He said nothing as she alternatingly berated him and instructed him on what he needed to tell the older woman. Mickie thought it was all a bit over the top. He had known Claudia for long enough now, and could reason she would not put him to death. For all that the trio of dead teens had been jealous, they had also been right in a sense. He really was her favourite little pet project.
When Mickie got to the matronly woman’s study, the door was already open. She awaited him with a warm smile and a tray of tea and cookies. The teen entered and sat on the plush chair opposite Claudia’s own. He took a cup of tea when it was offered and sipped on the murky liquid. Claudia did not approve of those who refused food when it was offered.
‘My dear, have you heard of the recent news?’
The head of the family said, her voice low with grief even as her eyes twinkled with something close to amusement.
‘I heard. Three deaths.’
‘Yes, and within our own grounds no less. Such a devastating tragedy.’
Mickie nodded, but did not speak. He could not be certain Claudia knew he was the killer, and did not wish to give himself away.
‘Rumours abound about who could perform such an act, of course. Yet there is a distinct lack of evidence.’
The woman took a long pull from her teacup and sighed with something like contentment.
‘On side note, I was forced to release young Edoardo from service yesterday.’
Mickie’s eyes shot from the coffee table to meet Claudia’s own. He had an intimate understanding of what released from service usually meant.
‘The cleaner?’
‘Indeed dear, he was spreading some rather unsavoury rumours regarding our dearly departed. In particular, he claims he saw you coming back from a walk around the time that they would have died.’
Claudia leant towards him, and Mickie knew he had been figured out. Rather than admit to the crime, he remained passive.
‘I see.’
‘Yes, I would not worry though, dear. Upon hearing such intolerable slander, I had a private chat with young Edoardo and resolved the issue. You see, I think I know who is responsible.’
‘Oh?’
Claudia’s expression grew grave, but her eyes still held that mischievous twinkle.
‘Someone I trust reported to me that they saw a small band of Glascones fleeing our mansion, if you can believe it.’
She sighed and gave a slow shake of the head.
‘The enemy coming on our very doorstep. Truly, there is no low to which that family will not stoop.’
Mickie realised, with a growing sense of unease, that the glint in Claudia’s eyes was not mischief. It was pleasure. She knew he had killed those children, and was happy about it. Not only that, but she was spinning her own version of the truth to cover for him. Mickie had expected many things when he walked into the matronly woman’s study, but approval was not amongst them.
‘An attack such as this cannot go unanswered, of course. We will need to ensure the Glascone suffer as we have, and, my dear, I would have you help deliver the blow.
So it was, that Mickie graduated from executioner to assassin. Not long after his meeting with Claudia, the teen was provided with equipment and tasked with killing a member of their rival family. His target was the manager of a drug lab that they had uncovered. Mickie was told to remove anyone else who looked like they might oppose a change in management.
The task was completed with a body count of five; namely the manager, three guards, and an overzealous worker. Mickie found it surprisingly easy to bend for the task. Something about his opponents having weapons of their own shifted how it felt. Only the worker stuck with him. A young woman with wild eyes, who had struck out with a scalpel. She had hardly made it more than a couple of steps before Mickie downed her. The teen could not understand what her intention had been, though he knew the emotion that drove her. Even now those same feelings pounded at the hollow he maintained within himself.
With the enemy down, another team came in and stripped the lab of anything valuable. Claudia might not be able to commandeer the location, but she could certainly make use of all the valuable equipment and product. This marked the first of many such operations for Mickie. Over the following years he became something of a bogeyman to the family’s enemies. Not every mission went smoothly, nor was every kill so easy for the teen to perform. He bent to do what was required, but as time went on the strain built. Mickie’s psyche became worn as an old rag, and he began to struggle keeping the storm of emotion at bay.
Until finally, a task came that pushed him over the edge. Only a few days past his eighteenth birthday, Mickie was told to kill a key contact for the Glascone. It was a simple task, the sort of thing he had done plenty of times before. Late at night, the young man broke into his target’s apartment. The security system was inactive, and he found the light in the study still on. Mickie had been trying to move quietly, but the rooms occupant seemed to have preternatural hearing. He was just stepping up to the open door when a voice echoed out.
‘Annie, I thought I told you it was only one story tonight.’
Within the room a chair swivelled to face the assassin. For a moment he locked eyes with a young woman, registering the spark of fear and panic as it blossomed within her. Mickie put two rounds into the left side of her chest. His target’s eyes widened, and she collapsed halfway out of the chair, crumpling to the floor. Just like that, the job was done. The young man was already halfway out of the apartment when a small voice echoed from down a darkened hallway.
‘Mama?’
Mickie froze like deer in the headlights. There came the patter of small footsteps, and a child appeared, running into the light of the open study.
‘Mama, what happened?’
The child, a young girl, disappeared into the study. Mickie could not move, could not breath. As the cries within the room grew louder and louder, he found that he was no longer a hardened killer. The young man was instead just a small boy, staring at an open door as his mother walked away. Mickie had not seen her die, he had not been forced to watch her bleed out on the floor.
The assassin stood frozen for long enough that the sobs and shouts from the room grew quiet. A sniffling figure darted out of the study, panicked and frightened. She cast about, and for the first time, saw Mickie standing partway to the door. Anyone in their world knew what black clad figure in the dark meant, so, when people saw him, they typically reacted with fear or anger. Yet, the small girl did not scream or shout, she did not attack or flee. Instead, she looked up at him with the small eyes of a scared child, widening with hope at the sight of an adult.
‘P-please help me. My mama. T-the doctor, I can’t remember the number for the doctor.’
Mickie’s father had told him that if you don’t bend, then you break. For years, the boy had followed that advice. No matter how cracked and twisted he became, he had bent. That night, under eyes free of judgement, yet heavy with the weight of his sins, Mickie finally snapped. The hollow he had been keeping up for years crumbled, and all the emotion crashed upon him in a terrible wave.
He did not even realise he was running until he was partway down the street. The boy ran from the small town where he had performed his job. He ran into a stretch of forest so thick it blocked all but the most determined strands of moonlight. Eventually, his breathing gave out and Mickie stumbled into a tree. He spun and landed hard on a cluster of gnarled roots. Moaning with pain far beyond anything physical, the boy curled in on himself and began to sob.
Mickie wished he had run into the car with his mother, died with her then and been done with it. He wished he called Claudia a liar when they first met, forced her to kill him the way she killed his mother. He wished he had simply refused to work at the abattoir, and let them lock him in the pit until he rotted and died.
The child’s face swam behind his sealed eyelids. The hope that had bloomed on her face upon seeing him. Mickie had done to her what had been done to him. He had killed her mother and made her watch. Something new coalesced in the young man at that moment, a seed of something sticky and dark that would always be within him. Loathing took its place in his heart. Loathing for the family which had taken his parents from him, and loathing for Claudia who forced him to bend until he broke. Above both of those however, Mickie loathed who he had become, and mourned the boy he once was.
He remembered being the child who had cried when the family dog died. A boy who might have reacted just as that little girl had. Someone who could implicitly trust in others, who believed that even a black clad figure in the night might help, if only they were asked. Mickie shuddered out sobs into the soil until he could cry no more. Eventually, even the tide of emotions receded, leaving the young man broken and wrung out on the forest floor.
Mickie picked himself up, and noticed sunlight filtering in through the dense canopy. He lifted a sleeve and checked his watch to see it was late morning. Well past the planned time for a pickup, he started the long walk back to the mansion.
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It took him the entire day to trek home. Mickie could have called a taxi to hurry things along, but opted to take the opportunity to think. There was something different within him now. Like a stick that had snapped, his shaped had broken and changed. Into what though, he was unsure. The hollow within that he had spent his whole life maintaining felt unnecessary. After last night he had no emotions left to keep out.
Stars were bright in the sky when Mickie finally slipped over the outer wall of his family’s grounds. Unwilling to be seen by even his own kin, the young man slunk over to the house and clambered up a rickety pipe to reach his room. The space was bland, not nearly as large as he could have acquired, but accessible through more circumspect means. Mickie took the chance to shower and change before exiting. He hurried through the halls. Being seen by others was inevitable, he just needed to get one thing done before he was summoned.
Lucia’s room was everything her brothers was not. Spacious and tastefully appointed, it was as much of a mask as anything else in the young woman’s life. Where Mickie had dealt with their treatment by pushing everything aside, Lucia had managed by hiding it all under layers of falsehood. All that subterfuge cracked however, when Mickie’s sister opened the door to find him standing exhausted on her threshold.
The look of pure relief was a rare show of genuine emotion, and lasted as long as it took to drag him inside. When Lucia clicked the door shut and wheeled on him, she had on her usual air of mild dissatisfaction.
‘Mik, you missed your rendezvous.’
‘I noticed.’
‘What happened? Did the job go sideways?’
Mickie gave his sister a long look, searching for another glimpse beneath the mask. He saw nothing but disapproval.
‘Job was alright, it’s just, I…’
The young man paused, unsure of what he had intended to say next. If he mentioned leaving a witness behind, then that child would not last the day. Lucia was cold, and did what was required to advance within the family. Alternatively, he could not tell her of his breakdown. Not because it posed a risk, but because Mickie was unsure how to encapsulate his experience into words.
‘Mik, are you alright?’
Concern creased the corners of Lucia’s eyebrows, a tiny indication of her true feelings.
‘Yeah, I’m fine, I just wanted to ask you something is all.’
‘And that is?’
Lucia’s features slid into something more genuine, and Mickie realised he must really be worrying her if she was slipping so substantially. He deliberated on what to say, before deciding to simply rip the Band-Aid off.
‘Do you want to run away?’
‘I’m sorry?’
Her concern shifted to confusion.
‘Run away. You know, skip town, start somewhere new.’
Lucia’s mask slid slowly back into place as her surprise settled.
‘You want to flee the family?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
‘Why not… Mik, you do recall the plan that destroyed our mother and father, don’t you?’
Mickie shrank back a little at the hint of anger that leaked into her voice.
‘Of course I do Lu. It’s part of why I want to go.’
‘You want to die like they did?’
She said, anger rising.
‘No, not that. It’s just, don’t you think it would have been good if they succeeded?’
His sister paused for a moment, reigning in her frustration.
‘Sure, it would have been lovely. Only they failed and left us to the mercy of the family.
‘I don’t think we would fail.’
Mickie meant it too. Most of the family looked at him with fearful awe. They would be reluctant in the extreme to come after him. An idea occurred to the young man.
‘I could kill Claudia. She might not let us go, but if she were dead…’
Lucia slapped him across the face. The move was so out of character for his reserved sister that Mickie never saw it coming. He felt a flicker of anger ignite, though it died abruptly when he looked into her eyes. Lucia’s mask was gone, and her features were twisted with fear.
‘Never say that again.’
She hissed.
‘For years I have worked to keep us alive, to keep you alive. Do you think the favouritism we have received was some kind of accident?’
Lucia never let herself slip like this. Her eyes were wide with anger, lips shaking with emotion.
‘Lu, I…’
‘Shut up, just shut up. All you have had to do is succeed; do as you were told while I handled everything else. While I…’
She took a shaky breath.
‘Mickie. You say you want to run like our parents wanted. Well, I’ll tell you something. Running away was not what they wanted, not really. It’s what they believed they could manage using all their meagre strength and influence. What they really wanted, was to be rid of this family.’
Mickie took an uncertain step back as Lucia closed upon him.
‘Everything I have done has been to that end. While you played puppy, I have played serpent. You say you want to run away? You say you want to kill Claudia? Those are the options our parents considered. The options that got them killed. They are not the options I will take.’
Lucia straightened and her face regained some of its composure.
‘I do not know what happened to you on your last job Mickie, but whatever it was, you need to let it go. Trust me, and do not do anything stupid. Do not compromise everything I have worked for.’
And with that, their conversation was over. Mickie did not even get the chance to say another word before the door was slamming shut in his face. The young man walked back to his room in half a daze. He had expected resistance from Lucia, maybe even a little anger. That outburst though, had been something deeper. Like his own breakdown, it had come from a place she tried to keep hidden away.
As Mickie walked however, his startlement shifted into anger. The implications of what she had said settled upon him, and lit a cold fire in his chest. Lucia told him that all he had needed to do was his job, that he had needed to do was succeed. Is that what she thought his years of bending had been? His sister must have seen the impact it was having on him, must have known how he was warping himself for their safety.
Memories of conversations passed came back to him. Lucia always telling him to bear it, to keep pushing for the sake of survival. She had taught him to hollow himself out, directed Mickie to break himself rather than consider escape. Lucia was willing to let him destroy himself, if it would allow her own schemes to come to fruition. As the young man stepped into his room, he felt the gurgling seed of loathing expand within him, growing to include his sister.
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When the summons finally came from Claudia, Mickie was seething mass of anger. He kept the emotion in check as he walked to the matronly leader’s study. Even so, the looks sent his way were wary and fearful, as if the other residents could sense the emotion within him.
Mickie entered the study with the same perfunctory movements as always. Knock, wait to be called. Enter, wait for a chair to be offered. Sit, accept the cup of tea. Sip.
‘My dear, I was so very worried for you. What happened to send your mission so awry?’
The young man starred hard at the coffee table.
‘There were more people than reported.’
‘Yes, I have gotten news of a troublesome witness. Already the authorities are beginning to look under stones better left unturned.’
Mickie was unsurprised she already knew about the kid he had left alive. Hopefully the girl had enough time to get out of the family’s reach. Claudia took a long sip of tea before continuing.
‘I expected better of you dear. If we wish to defeat the Glascone, we must be smarter than this.’
She sighed dramatically.
‘Normally I would allow such a slip to slide, but the stir being kicked up by this is particularly violent. As such, a show of discipline must be made. I believe two days in the pit should be sufficient.’
Mickie starred into Claudia’s eyes, and considered simply killing her. It would be easy, the matronly woman had a concealed weapon on her, he was sure, but that would not matter. He was far faster and substantially more capable when it came to violence. The problem would be handling the aftermath. An aging pencil pusher was one thing, but the mansion was filled with individuals who knew which way to point a gun. Mickie was good, but he was not that good. Yet, there was something about the idea that spoke to the broken man. A cold simplicity that resonated with the loathing in his gut. A chance to take back control of his own life.
‘Mickie dear? Are you well?’
Claudia’s voice drew him from his thoughts, and Mickie realised he had been staring her down for quite some time. The woman’s were filled with a wary unease, and the young man noticed her hand drifting towards her left thigh. Definitely a hidden weapon.
‘Yeah, all good. Two days in the pit.’
The thoughts of murder slipped from his mind. It was not as if Claudia’s death would do any actual good. There were always more where she came from. Just like there were always more killers. More like him. Mickie stood to leave.
‘I am sorry, but I cannot be seen to show favouritism.’
The young man nodded slowly, hearing the lie but found he did not care enough to even be irritated about it. Mickie was escorted from the study to the pit, were he spent two days sitting in total silence. All the while the newfound loathing within him churned, bubbling against the broken remains of the boy he had once been, now bent and warped beyond recognition.
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Mickie experienced a strange, slow moment of disconnect. It was like he had been riding a train through his own life, and it had just careened right off the end of the tracks. The story did not end there, years would follow before he died. However, the force that had dragged him into the recesses of his own mind was relinquishing its hold. The branded man had been asked who he was, and the question was now answered.
Back within his soul the dark tendrils of force were withering away. The mortal hung in the empty expanse, watching it go with a palpable sense of relief. Mickie’s vision began to flicker between the world in his head, and the realm beyond. Through a daze he saw a blurry figure in a dark suit. It was Belphegor, hand still gripping the blade in his heart. Then Mickie’s memories swam to the surface, and it was Claudia standing there, hand cupped gently to his cheek.
The last of the darkness shrivelled to nothing and the seventh circle snapped back into focus. Mickie could taste blood on his tongue and feel it running down his chest. Everything felt wrong, the world seeming to move in fits and starts around him. It was like Hell was an illusion, and the past was his true reality.
Perhaps that was the case. Maybe after killing that child’s mother, he had gone mad, and everything since was a delusion dreamt up in the confines of a padded cell. A stabbing pain in his chest drew his thoughts closer to the present. If this was all just a dream, then why did it hurt so much? Had he not suffered enough already? The thud of his heart against the blade send rhythmic pulses of ice through Mickie’s veins.
Who had told him hearts were a mortal’s weakness. Had it been Lucia? No, that could not be right. Mickie’s right arm burned and felt as heavy as lead, so he used his left to grab the knife’s hilt. The branded man tried to pull it free, but Belphegor’s hand was immovable as stone. Instead of pushing the blade from his chest, Mickie pushed his chest from the blade.
With a gasp he fell backwards, collapsing near the edge of the catwalk. His vision swam at the drop, eyes stinging with steam from the blood lake. Then Mickie was rolling over with a monumental effort, gasping and coughing as his heart pumped blood right out of his body. The pain in his arm was making itself known, a growing fire in the limb.
Mickie groggily glanced down and was almost blinded by the sight. His hand was glowing like he held the sun in his palm. No wonder it hurt so much.
‘What… you can’t be… it’s not possible.’
A voice reached him, echoing into the branded man’s ears as if from an impossible distance. Mickie turned and found Belphegor staring at him, wide eyed with an almost comical look of astonishment. Something shifted behind the old lord, catching his attention. Two figures stood there, frozen mid step.
One was Belphegor’s aged second. Mickie was struck again by how familiar she looked, though the feeling swiftly fled when he saw Kalistra ahead of the old woman. The gorgon stood above the body of the fallen Kindle Kin, bronze scales glowing in the Enforcer’s sparce lamplight. One of her hands was raised towards him, as if in greeting, though her face was set in a frown of concern. The branded man smiled at the sight of her, but the expression soon faltered.
There was something wrong. Her eyes, which usually glinting a bronze that bordered on gold, were dark. It took a moment for the branded man’s foggy thoughts to piece together why. When he realised, Mickie panicked and tried to rise from the steel catwalk. He could not see her eyes because there were no eyes to see. Kalistra was blind. Something heavy landed on Mickie’s stomach as he struggled, shoving him back to the steel catwalk. The branded man frowned up at Belphegor as the demon stepped close.
‘How did you manage it? The Sovereign should have had you killed like the rest of your accursed kind.’
The old lord said, though Mickie hardly heard him. His arm hurt, and his brain was operating as if in slow motion. Why was it so hard to for him to move? It was as if all the energy had been siphoned right out of his soul. Mickie started, realisation blossoming bright as the sun he held in his right hand. It felt like all the energy had been sucked from him because that was exactly what had happened.
He had just been within his soul, and it was empty of all power. Even his bone amulet had been pulled dry, the secondary storage giving him not so much as a trickle. The begged the question then, of where all this power had gone? The glow and pain from his right arm held the answer.
Before Belphegor had stabbed him, Mickie had started dumping power into his gun, charging it for an attack. Apparently, reliving his past had not been enough to interrupt that process. Every iota of force the branded man could muster had been shoehorned into the weapon. It now glowed with such heat that not even the resistance of Behemoth could fully protect him.
Mickie rasped out something that resembled a laugh. He looked past Belphegor to Kalistra, wishing that she could see him, that she could know what he intended. The gorgon would understand. They were both the same kind of broken, after all. To his surprise, Kalistra reacted to his attention. Her mouth opened and she started forwards, words forming that he would never hear.
Belphegor reached a clawed hand down towards him, and Mickie raised his gun to meet it. The weapon arced across his eyesight like a shooting star, trailing light behind it. The old lord squinted and frowned, twisting to bat the glowing steel aside.
Mickie pulled the trigger, and was blown backwards in a thunderclap of fire and smoke. He slammed into something, twisted, and flipped into open air. Then he was falling, down into fire, down into pain. The young girl’s face swam before him, coated in the blood of her own mother. She opened her mouth, and the voice of old Aria came out.
You promised me Mickie. You swore you would show them. You swore.
The broken man opened his mouth, trying to speak, to take back all he had done.
‘I’m sorry.’
Mickie hit the blood lake.